The Silk road to Stardom
by Mizu-Tenshi
Summary: When Francis discovers that his band can't play at a gig, he inevitably runs into the one responsible for this; Arthur Kirkland, a new rock star who is prepared to claw his way to the top, pissing off a few Frenchmen along the way. AU. FrUK
1. The band begins

Written for the kink meme a long time ago. Band AU

* * *

**Chapter 01. The Band begins!**

XX

"Yo, guess who's on the front cover of NGE's Band Wave again?" Gilbert burst into the practice room, grinning and waving a glossy magazine above his head.

Francis plucked the magazine from Gilbert's hand, nodding approvingly at the choice of cover.

"Why, who are these handsome young men?" he grinned at the three familiar faces staring back at him with the words Bad Friends! pasted across in bright red letters.

Gilbert threw himself onto the long leather couch in the corner of the room, arms outstretched along the backboard with an air of powerful ease, he tilted his head back and laughed.

"So are we all set for our gig at the Butterfly, yeah?" he asked as if this was given.

Antonio, who had been quietly changing the strings of his guitar suddenly looked up, alarmed. He exchanged unspoken glances with Francis, daring one another to be the first to break the news.

"Ah, about that," Antonio lost the dare.

"They are already booked for tonight," Francis frowned.

As expected, Gilbert jumped to his feet with a look of outrage. They had come a long way from their college days, performing gigs in the back of dingy old bars for the generous pocket-change of wasted businessmen. They were big news. They were stars. They had a record label behind them and a contract worth more than their combined student debt had ever been. God bless corporate giants.

"Well why don't they _un_book?" Gilbert scowled, offended that such a small place such as the Butterfly could reject the sheer awesomeness of the Bad friends. "C'mon, that dingy little place can't afford to turn down big names like us! Wouldn't even play on that tiny stage if it wasn't for the fact that that's where we played when we were just starting out!"

Antonio nodded in agreement and Francis had to admit that he was rather upset that their fame had not managed to worm them the privilege of booting out the smaller names, not at the Butterfly at least.

"Well, they're booked. You know what Berwald's like. He's the kind of person who does what he says and never changes his mind once he's made a decision."

"Blockhead," Gilbert snorted. He grabbed his guitar in frustration - an old, Prussian blue Fender he had managed to haggle from an elderly, almost blind, gentleman for thirty five dollars - and began running through chords at a rate he only reached when he was frustrated.

Francis threw the magazine onto the couch. "Nevermind. I'll go again tonight. Perhaps I will be more successful in…the art of persuasion."

XX

"The Bad Friends are on the cover of Band Wave again," Alfred said with a mouth full of fries and a hand reaching into the bargain bucket for more.

The backstage room of the Butterfly was a cramped affair. There was hardly any room for all four members to sit comfortably, let alone practice, though Arthur was lovingly tuning his guitar from his perch on top of the dressing table.

"Fucking posers. What's so good about them anyway?" he muttered. His E was refusing to sound like an E and less like an A.

"Ah, Arthur has a grudge against the group, da?" Ivan, decked in a heavy trench coat despite the humidity of the cramped room, smiled. He tapped his fingers over a long mahogany walking stick - an object he had become oddly attached to since buying it off an old war veteran - pretending as though he were tapping against the taut skin of a drum.

Arthur screwed his face up in disgust. "It's not my fault they're the worst band since…since…" he paused. He could not think of a band that was just as bad as the Bad Friends.

"When Arthur was just a solo artist he went to the Bad Friends and asked for a place in their band. I believe he was told to 'Fuck off, limey'," Alfred grinned, appreciating the story more than Arthur cared for.

"That sounds unnecessarily harsh," Matthew shook his head.

Alfred laughed at his brother. "Shouldn't have told the leader that he couldn't…hey, what did you say to Gilbert Weillschidmt?"

"That he couldn't sing for shit," Arthur snorted. Finally, the E was sounding like an E! "I was right wasn't I? After that they changed their lead vocalist to Antonio and they've been doing much better, the fuckers," he could not help but add with bitter animosity.

"Ah well, we're here now," Matthew smiled comfortingly, though from the way Ivan left him only enough room for a five year old to stand he looked as though he did not appreciate being right there at that specific moment.

"Yeah, that's right, we are so much more awesome than the Bad Friends!" Alfred threw more fries into his mouth.

"Our vocals are batter at any rate."

There was a heavy knock at the door. A stage hand popped his head round the door, holding up a hand with his fingers outstretched.

"Five minutes guys," he gestured.

The band obediently slid off of dressing tables and chairs. Band Wave and the frozen smiles of the Bad Friends were left forgotten on the table next to a half-eaten bargain bucket of take-out burgers and fries.

XX

"Merde!" Francis swore under his breath, running through the streets towards the squashed frame of the Butterfly.

He rounded the next corner and slammed into another body crossing in front of him. Francis staggered back but managed to retain his balance. The other unfortunate soul, however, was thrown flat on his back.

"Ah, excusez-moi!" Francis hurriedly apologised, offering a helping hand to the poor man he had knocked over.

"No problem!" the young man - Italian, he guessed from his accent - refused the hand graciously and picked himself up.

Francis nodded and resumed running again. Though he knew that it was far too late to ask to play instead, he still felt duty bound to pester Berwald until the man grunted, muttered something unintelligible and booted him out as he had done on so many nights after a good gig and a few too many bottles of great wine.

However, by the time he burst into the Butterfly it was too crowded to locate Berwald and the curtain was rising to the cheers of the excited audience.

Francis had checked the posters splattered along the side of the Butterfly; they announced that a four-man group named Cellophane was playing - the weirdest name for a group Francis had ever heard since the band Those Guys And Their Dog.

The curtain was all the way up now and the four men on stage stood ready to start. Francis counted a drummer, bassist and a guitarist - staple positions one would find in all the other one hundred and fifty million rock bands across the world.

There was something odd though, something Francis did not notice upon first glance. The bassist, a tall blond man with thin-rimmed glasses had a saxophone strapped to his side - strange for a rock band. Oh, and how could he overlooked the fact that there was a keyboardist too?

However, stranger things were yet to come as the guitarist stepped towards the microphone, identifying himself as the lead singer with just that simple gesture. Francis' eyes widened. He almost laughed when he realised that it was that rude man who had called Gilbert's voice 'a piece of shit' or something and had been promptly told to 'fuck off'

"So he made a band himself," he muttered, amused.

He was about to turn and leave when the bassist ripped into a round of furious chords that tore through the silence of the hall.

XX

"Alfred!" Arthur placed a hand over the microphone to hiss at his bassist

Alfred, oblivious or, more likely, ignoring Arthur, grabbed his own mic and freed it from the stand. "Whoo! Hey there guys and gals are you ready to rock!" he shouted, punching the air with infectious enthusiasm.

"Alfred!" Arthur hissed over the deafening roars.

"We haven't been doing gigs for long but we hope you'll like what we got and that you got what we like! Can I hear a hell yeah?!"

"Hell yeah!" the audience responded willingly.

"That's what I like!" Alfred cried, turning his head to grin at Arthur's darkening scowl. "And now, without further ado, here's our leader and vocalist - feel free to throw tomatoes if he sounds like shit - Arthur Kirkland!" he let a few chords fly as introduction and even Ivan pitched in with a little drumming.

Arthur's expression foretold a world of pain for Alfred as soon as they were offstage.

"Personally, if you're going to throw something at the stage, I'd rather it be your wallets. Then I might sing like shit if you did that," he managed to grin at the audience. "Anyway, here we go with our first number. Are you ready?"

The crowd cheered in response.

Without keeping their fans waiting any longer, the band threw themselves into their first song.

Francis, lingering at the back away from the jumping guys and dancing girls, listened with reluctance. They were…passable, he had to admit. Maybe a little bit more than passable. They had obviously practiced and that man - Arthur the bassist had introduced him as - had been right the day he had burst into their dressing room; he was a good vocalist.

"Ve, ve, they're good! Take pictures! Take pictures!" the young Italian Francis had knocked over was now standing with someone who looked like a grumpy mirror image of him. The enthusiastic one was elbowing his twin - clone, Francis rather suspected - insisting on a million click a minute.

Francis wanted to snort at all this enthusiasm but, in that moment when his eyes drifted over the stage again, he felt his eyes meet with Arthur's gaze and he froze.

Surely no one's eyes were naturally that green. Surely no one's gaze was naturally that piercing.

'What are you going to do about it?' Francis grinned back at the vocalist and he was sure that the man scowled right back.


	2. Stainless Night

XX

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**Chapter 02 - Stainless Night**

XX

Francis walked into Gilbert's renovated practice room to find rehearsal for their next concert proceeding slower than expected. In fact, they had not even started.

"What are you doing?" he found Antonio leaning back on the red leather couch, reading a copy of Ok, Rock! with a ridiculous smile on his face.

"Ah, the article that a friend of mine wrote is in here. It's very cute. See?" Antonio held up the magazine and Francis could see the pictures from last week's gig at The Butterfly with that odd band. His gaze ran down the page. "They're playing again? At Peacock Blue?" he voiced his surprise when he reached the end. Had those two Italians managed to sneak backstage and talk to the members? Had they talked to Arthur, the lead singer with those furious green eyes and foul temper?

"Bleh, a nobody-band playing at a nobody-club!" Gilbert walked in, throwing open the door to announce his entrance. "C'mon, I'm ripping and ready to go! Let's practice!"

"You're only this energetic when Roderich says that he's coming."

Gilbert grinned, plucking at the strings of his Fender restlessly. "Hey, I don't want to have the boss man shouting at me, do you? He might even tear up our contract. Trust me, he'd do that!"

Antonio folded the magazine on the side of the couch and France obediently picked up his sticks with a look that said that they had been used to Gilbert's whims for far longer than the three years since becoming an official band.

"Then we should start practicing, oui?"

XX

They went through song after song, playing nonstop for hours until the sun began to sink. Antonio, with the mic in front of him, sang with a strange passion one would not normally associate with his laid-back air and Francis tried not to think how right Arthur had been in his assessment of their vocals.

"Oh yeah! We rock!" Gilbert yelled as the last chords of their final song drifted away. "And old Roddy didn't come by after all!"

"We're not bad," Antonio smiled. "Perhaps we should work on tightening our chords?"

"Hey, we're already awesome as it is!" Gilbert never liked listening to criticism, the one trait that, without which, he could have been rather good friends with Roderich. The two liked to butt heads whenever in the same room; Roderich always telling him to straighten up and Gilbert disobeying as far as possible without seriously pissing their manager off enough to make him tear out his hair and their contract.

"Though I agree with Antonio…today, I think we should call it a night," Francis put aside his sticks.

"Alright! Wanna go out for drinks?" Gilbert grinned, throwing down his guitar on the couch with a carelessness that would have made any collector grimace with horror. Francis frowned, wondering how he could refuse Gilbert without looking too suspicious. Although he frequently voices his wishes for Gilbert to drink with more finesse, he had never turned down the opportunity to exercise their music star rights to get stinking drunk.

Antonio, however, noted the second Francis' hesitated and asked; "Do you have somewhere that you have to be?"

"I just wanted to check on something," Francis shrugged on his coat quickly before they could ask him what it was. In truth, he was not sure why he felt so drawn to that band and that rude, foul-mouthed singer. It was not a pleasant day to be out either. The sky looked as though it would rain.

"Have fun!" Antonio bid him farewell.

Francis snorted. Fun? Yeah right.

XX

The interior of Peacock Blue was in rather bad shape after years of abuse without ever being repaired. It was certainly not ramshackle but it was the nicest place to perform with a small stage and cheesy neon lights and a dirty floor; all of these defects obscured however by the dimness by which the concert hall – if it could be called that – was covered in.

Despite the dingy quality of the venue, Francis found himself in a fairly packed hall. It amused him to think that the band could possibly be gaining a following. He wondered if they would start printing T-shirts with Arthur's face and his ridiculous eyebrows one day.

"Are you ready to rock?!" the bassist, Alfred, if France recalled correctly, screamed through the microphone. Arthur grabbed it off of him, shoving him away from the centre spot with his hand and an attempted kick to his shin.

Pretending as though nothing had happened, he smiled at the audience with a look of gentle courtesy, the suddenly roared; "Right ladies and gents, get ready for the night of your life!"

The audience repaid him with an even louder wave of screams and claps and the neon lights lit up around the stage and the first rift ripped through the hall.

Francis watched from a good distance as the song sped up in tempo. Arthur grabbed the mic stand and leaned in, almost pressing his lips to it as his eyes, which seemed eerily ablaze in the lighting, remained sharp and focused on the crowd. Francis felt a cold trill run up his spine. It looked as though he were staring right into you.

Halfway through the song they hit the chorus and Alfred managed to quick-draw the saxophone strapped to his side – like a cowboy in a Western movie, Francis smirked – and began to play solo while his base was left hanging around his shoulders on its strap.

The crowd went wild, their cheers pitching above the humanly possible octaves as Arthur joined in with a series of furious rifts and Ivan started to appear as though he would destroy his drum set under the furious thundering sticks.

"They're not bad," Francis almost jumped as he heard a cool, calm voice speak almost next to his ear.

"R – Roderich?! What are you doing here?" he turned his bewildered at the company manager.

Roderich Edelstein – not to be confused with Edelweiss. He really hated it when people called him that – was a difficult man to find, and an even more difficult man to work with, but so brilliant that everyone clamoured to create a contract with him anyway. He had been a big name in the classical music scene before "things had happened" and he had quit for good – Francis had always been too smart to ask his boss what those "things" had been.

Roderich, whom Gilbert always accused of always having a "stick shoved up where the sun don't shine", folded his arms and leaned back from the crowd, immune to the apparently infectious fervour carried on the waves of music.

"I went to check up on your band mates but it seems that practice was already over. However, Antonio had an inkling that you would be here and I was curious as to discover why."

"He can be strangely perceptive at times," Francis sighed. Despite Antonio's devastating inability to read the atmosphere, he could be almost telempathic at times. If he did not know better, he would have thought Antonio's air-headedness to be just a ruse.

"What do you think of them?" Roderich nodded toward the stage.

Their first song had finished and now they were playing a less intense song, the kind that made for easy-listening on those long hours caught in the evening rush-hour.

Francis frowned. "We could do much better."

"Perhaps," Roderich looked as though he had been expecting such an answer, "but they do have potential. Perhaps I will have a chat with them after this gig."

"Ah, you can't mean that…"

Roderich smiled at him, although, when Roderich smiled, many people often found themselves wishing they were not on the receiving end of such a smile. "Is that a problem? Well, even if you have a problem, I won't listen to it," he said before Francis could open his mouth.

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XX


	3. How to deal with angry managers

XX

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**Chapter 03 - How to deal with angry managers**

XX

Arthur Kirkland was not a patient person. He hated waiting for anything, be it trains, buses, the final score on the latest football match, or the ping of the microwave when cooking one of those horrid microwaveable meals that Alfred often forced him to endure. The band, however, he had treated with as much patience as he had stored, carefully waiting, practicing every day and trying to get exposure through small gigs and internet streaming sites until they caught the attention that he knew that they deserved.

Finally, finally, the day had come. He was almost inclined to believe that he was simply dreaming because it felt like it had been so long. Too long. Why had no one picked them up earlier?

They were now sitting in a cream waiting room of the RE corporation, the label which had picked them up. The room was empty, decorated only with photos of various artists accepting awards hanging in golden edged photo frames and creamy plush seats which matched the walls.

"Fuuuuuuuck yeah!" Alfred punched the air, unable to still as his other band mates were. "Damn, we rock! It's about damn time someone recognised our awesomeness! Hey, Arthur, you gotta sign! Whatever they ask, just sign it!"

Arthur folded his arms stubbornly. "Screw you! I'm not selling our band to whatever wanker waves a bit of cash in front of my face! I plan on looking over this contract thoroughly and carefully before discussing our future."

"Just sign it!" Alfred pulled a face.

"No!"

"I agree with Arthur," Ivan said, leisurely reclining against the seats, not caring, or perhaps not realising, that by stretching out he was almost pushing Matthew off of the edge. "I trust that he will settle for no less than a…very flattering contract," he flashed Arthur a long glance that delivered the real meaning behind his polite words.

Arthur just shrugged as a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair came out to greet them.

"Arthur Kirkland? Mr Edelwei – I mean, Edelstein, will see you now."

Arthur pushed himself off of his seat, trying not to show how hard his heart was beating.

"Well, wish me luck," he said, and entered Roderich's office.

XX

"No fucking way! You mean eyebrows – Roderich gave eyebrows an offer?" Gilbert almost dropped his guitar when Francis had casually mentioned what had occurred during his trip to the Peacock Blue after Gilbert had poked him for information one too many times.

The staff at the recording studio were beginning to look weary of them; they had arrived five minutes ago - ten minutes later than they should have arrived - and still had not begun to sing. Gilbert had strode into the studio, setting up the equipment and slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder before promptly beginning the conversation which even Francis was tiring of.

He did not enjoy talking about Arthur, mainly because, from what he had seen before, the man was an unpleasant and arrogant jerk, but also because he felt as if he had stumbled upon a secret when he had first seen the band play at the Butterfly, a secret which he did not feel like sharing even with his band mates.

"His name is Arthur Kirkland, I believe," he shrugged, "and yes, Roderich believes that they have…potential," his mouth twisted into a condescending smile. He tried to ignore the small flutter in his stomach when he thought back to that night, or the little quiver of excitement that pulsed through his veins.

Gilbert fell about laughing. "Eyebrows? Potential? Now that's one I haven't heard before!"

"Are you interested?" Antonio was smiling at his suggestively.

Francis snorted. "Please, I have no time to waste on an inferior band such as them."

Gilbert laughed his approval. However, there was an impatient knock at the window of the live room and a man at the mixer tapped his watch impatiently.

The three of them glanced at each other with a knowing smile.

"Well then," Gilbert cracked his fingers together. "Let's rock!"

XX

By the time that Arthur returned Alfred had grown tired of pacing up and down and was resting, rather sloppily, on what had previously been Arthur's seat. Upon seeing Arthur emerge relatively unscathed however he leaped up, the energy reawakened within him.

"So Arthur, you managed to get us our own studio with private dressing rooms or what?"

He snapped. Roderich had been a stern but capable man. He had the impression that he could be rather overbearing but that the rewards would be worth it if they could keep up. Doubtless, they would be fine.

"Don't be ridiculous! In their eyes we're still a small name band. We're lucky if we even get someone making coffee for us!"

"Ehhh, you suck!"

"What was that?" he glared at Alfred.

"C'mon, Al, Arthur's just being realistic," Matthew managed to squeeze away from Ivan

"It might be realistic," Ivan agreed, "but if it here me, I believe that I could have managed something a little more…comfortable."

Arthur shot a glare at his ungrateful band mates. "Look, we've got this far already! We just have to keep going!"

Alfred grinned. "Hell, yeah, we're never stop! Not even when we're number one!"

"Ah, but is it alright to work under this label?" Ivan piped.

"What do you mean?" Arthur frowned at him but Ivan was never one to shrink back from anything, not even the ferocious looks of disapproval that their lead singer could shoot.

"Well, the Bad Friends are also working under this label. I believe that you and they have…issues," he smiled pleasantly. However, they all knew just what kind of issues he was alluding to.

Arthur looked thoughtful for a moment, but then simply shrugged as if he could not care any less. "Please, I'm a professional now. Besides, I doubt our paths will cross," he spoke honestly. He had enough to admit that a big name band like that and a small band that was just starting would not likely be lumped together.

"Ooh, look who's acting so mature!" Alfred teasingly poked Arthur's cheek but was quickly brushed away.

"So when do we start?" Matthew asked.

Arthur's lips twisted into a smirk. "Right now."

As if on cue, they heard heavy footsteps break the stillness of the empty waiting room. A tall man coughed and cleared his throat, causing them all to fall silent.

"Arthur Kirkland?" the man had a slight German accent but, which they would discover later, could dissolve into almost incomprehensible broken English when drunk or angry, or both.

"That's me," Arthur swivelled around and found himself face to face with a rather opposing-looking German man in a pressed, impeccably clean navy blue suit.

The man extended his arm in greeting. "I'm Ludwig Beilschmidt. I will be your manager and producer from now on. It's a pleasure," he said gruffly.

"Beilschmidt…hey, are you - "

"Also, please do not mention my idiot brother in my presence!" he added quickly, with a look almost as dangerous as Ivan's infamously icy smiles or Arthur's poisonous glares. "For now, I like you and I do hope that we can have a pleasant relationship," he shook each of their hand in turn, crushing the fingers of everyone except Ivan without realising.

"Likewise," Arthur smiled weakly. Ludwig smiled, which though it made him look no less imposing, was somehow strangely endearing.

After introductions had been finished, he took out a pen and a notebook and began scribbling a way thing on it.

"We'll start straight away. Roderich wants to get what will be your first single recorded and playing on radios and livestreams everywhere. There's also the issue of publicity and of course we need to record a music video. Ah, it would also be good if you could play as an opening act for some of the more established bands under our label, but this will all happen in due time."The first thing is the recording. Roderich was very impressed with one of your songs – Popular Lover, was it? – would it be okay to go with that?"

Arthur managed a very enlightened "Err…." But fortunately for him Alfred jumped right into it, offering an enthusiastic yes.

Ludwig nodded as though he had expected such an answer. "We'll start with a few practice runs before recording the real thing. Don't worry if you can't finish today; most people don't. What's important is that the final piece sounds the best that it can be."

Arthur, only just recovering from just how quickly everything was proceeding, shook himself out of his stupor. "Right, right, that's fine. I'm rather partial to the song myself."

"Good. Now, if the three of you would follow me," he beckoned them and began walking.

Matthew's addition of; "Um, there's four of us," was quickly forgotten in the hurry to follow their new manager.

XX

If he were to be honest, Arthur would have liked to have stopped and taken a moment, perhaps a day, to wrap his head around everything that happened. It had not yet been a week since they had been lifted out of obscurity and now they were recording a song to be played officially on the radio? Granted, they were simply doing test runs right now but it was still a big leap. His heart was pounding with excitement and trepidation.

However, he felt his buzz sink all the way down when they entered recording stupid five to find that it was still being occupied and by the Bad Friends no less. Arthur was ready to kick Fate for dealing such a cruel blow to him after he had really hoped that he would not meet any of them again, at least not until he had his own band well established that he could look down on the Bad Friends from his musical high horse.

By the looks of things, the Bad Friends were going over time and many of the men in the control room were trying to make signals to stop while Gilbert rocked on obliviously.

Ludwig, however, had no reservations about storming up to the panel of the live room and hitting his fist against the pane. "Gilbert! Gilbert! Get out of the recording studio, your time is up!" he roared.

Gilbert looked up and broke into a wide grin at the sight of his brother. "Ehhh? C'mon bro, give us five more minutes!"

"You're time is up! There are people who need to use them!" Ludwig was merciless.

"Oh?" Gilbert grinned as he caught sight of Arthur and his band mates. Arthur bristled with anger. It felt as if he were being mocked and, big name or not, he would never let someone dare look down on him.

Ludwig hit the pane again. "Don't be childish, brother! Otherwise I will leak your baby photos to the press! Especially the one where you photographed your - "

"Okay, okay, I'm getting out!" Gilbert jumped, throwing down his fender – it was a miracle to his band mates that the thing had not broken yet – and pulling his headphones off of his head.

"What are you, a sadist? Only you would do something so cruel to your own brother," he sighed as he exited the live room.

Ludwig crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. "I only hope that one day you will learn to be a responsible adult, brother."

Gilbert fell into sullen silence and Arthur could not help but quip "Yo, Gilbert, how's the band going? Doesn't your throat get sore after such a long practice? Ah, but I forgot, you don't sing anymore, do you?"

Gilbert glared at him. "Shut up limey! You weren't so mouthy the last time you came to us on your hands and knees!"

Arthur blushed with shame. Of course it did not help when Alfred poked his cheek again, laughing; "Haha, Arthur you've gone red!"

"I never did such a thing!" Arthur snapped, swatting Alfred away. He glanced at Antonio and Francis, who were trying not to laugh as well, and felt his face burn even more.

Fortunately for him Ivan was just as eager to be beating his drums into oblivion and did not appreciate this distracting trash talk. Coming to the front, he placed a soothing hand on both Arthur's and Gilbert's shoulder. "Now now, let's all get along! Let's be friends…shall we?" he smiled, and Arthur was sure that the temperature had dropped a few degrees.

"…Yes," the both muttered obediently.

"Well, in the name of professionalism, I believe that we should let bygones be bygones," Arthur looked up to see Francis smiling at him. "You're Arthur Kirkland, yes? And you must already know who I am of course," he held out his hand.

When Arthur had first gone to the Bad Friends he had never paid much attention to Francis – or to Antonio for that matter – it had been Gilbert whom he had clashed with, and towards whom most of his animosity had been directed during those years when he had tireless tried to put together his current band.

He had never really given how he felt about Francis much thought before but, looking at his self-confident smile now, he instantly decided that he did not like the man.

"No, I have no clue who are you are, but I'm pleased to meet you anyway," Arthur shook it, squeezing Francis' fingers tighter than what would have been considered pleasant.

Either Alfred could not read the atmosphere, or he was deliberately trying to ease the tension – Arthur would bet on the former. Either way, he jumped into the middle of the discussion, crying with enthusiasm; "Alright, introductions! I'm Alfred the awesome bass and sometimes sax player. You know, I wanted to play jazz when I began but rock is so cool. I've been badgering old eyebrows to play a jazz rock song one day!"

"Don't call me eyebrows!" Arthur snapped and he could hear the Bad Friends laugh.

"But they are very…outstanding," Francis covered up his laughter with a hand.

"You can shut up, frog!"

"Silence!" Ludwig snapped. "Brother, you have a tour coming up next month, don't you? Do you have an opening act?"

Gilbert quickly caught on to what his brother was trying to imply and instantly sobered. "We do actually," he snorted.

However, Ludwig merely shrugged and said nonchalantly. "You can fit another in. I'll make arrangements with Roderich. It will be good publicity."

"No!" Gilbert cried, ignoring how petulant he might have sounded. Arthur was secretly inclined to agree with that emphatic no.

However, Ludwig had made it clear that he was prepared to get their band into the spotlight as quickly as possible no matter how many all-nighters they had to pull or who whose connections he had to use.

"Don't be so childish!" he scolded. "You won't even do this to help your own brother? Well, if you three would leave, and Arthur if you'd remember just why you're here we can get some work done," he insisted and no one could deny such a stubborn man anything.

* * *

XX


	4. Denmark Cross

XX

* * *

**Chapter 04**

**Denmark Cross**

XX

The two weeks of practice was a whirlwind of action. They signed contracts, shook hands, had their photos taken, recorded their music, were shoved into small gigs to play in front of tiny audiences generally were bombarded with different publicity stunts. The first two weeks made Arthur seriously reconsider being a band member. It was not all glamour and games after all but gruelling work. He seriously did not think he could physically smile anymore without tearing a muscle.

"I quit!" Alfred panted for the fifteenth time that day. "I don't care if I get a boring desk job. Man, nothing can be worth all this pain and effort!"

"You quit and I'll cut your balls off," Arthur growled, although he would never admit that he was feeling the same way too.

"There's no rest for the weary I'm afraid," Ludwig clapped his hands together, ordering them to attention.

How he could stay so energetic was beyond them since he had been their personal chauffer and director throughout the hectic fortnight. However, he did not even look sleep deprived.

"I believe the saying went; no rest for the wicked," Matthew groaned.

"You're scheduled for a live concert on the Kate and Perry late night music show. Just smile and nod," Ludwig ignored him.

Suddenly, Alfred let out a loud, whine and slumped onto the chair in the dressing room. "But that show's not until eight o'clock right? We have time to, I dunno, sleep before then, right?" he looked at their manager imploringly.

Arthur knew that he was trying to do the puppy-dog trick. Those eyes could melt the heart of the devil himself if Alfred tried heard enough but Ludwig was more than a devil, and whether it would work or not was -

"Very well," Ludwig conceded with a weary sigh. Arthur almost had a heart attack. So the slave-driving manager had a heart after all!

Alfred punched the air, seemingly re-energised already and shared a high-five with his brother. He tried to do the same with Ivan, who met him with a cold smile.

Well, personally, Arthur was not going to complain about a well-deserved break. He was just as tired as the rest of them after being shipped from place to place. If anything, he too should be relishing a chance to rest.

Ivan claimed their tiny dressing room, Alfred and his brother went in the direction of the nearest coffee machine but as for Arthur he wandered around until he found a dark, quiet studio to sit in.

The large studio was set up for broadcasting. Several men and women were preparing the stage for a live broadcast. He shuffled near the wall and took a seat on one of the chair left on the side, overshadowed by all the other equipment. He was at a good distance from the actual centre of the studio to observe the goings on without being in the way. In fact, no one had yet spotted him enter the studio, or so he thought until he heard someone move about in the shadows.

"Oi, that's my spot," a man stepped forward, carrying a large violin case over his shoulder. "You look like you're not too long for this world."

"My manager…is a slave-driver," Arthur sighed, too tired to move for him.

The man looked at him appraisingly. "You're Arthur Kirkland, right? I've seen your face everywhere. On adverts I mean," he smiled.

"And you are?" Arthur removed his arms from over his eyes to glance up at the tall, grinning man standing over him with strangely spiky hair combed up.

"Denmark Cross. Or at least that's my stage name. You can call me Lars," the man took the seat next to him and held out his hand.

"The violinist?" Arthur shook hands with him.

"Rock violinist," he corrected.

Although Arthur had heard of him before, he had never known that the rock violinist was with the same label as well. He had not exactly been a frothing fan of his work, but he had liked it a great deal more than half the other crap and preppy pop drivel that was manufactured these days.

Lars leaned back against his chair, stretching out all the muscles in his back. "I feel for you man, I heard you got Ludwig for a manager."

"He's excellent but…"

"A bit of a workaholic, right?" Lars grinned as if he knew exactly what a slave-driver his manager could be. "Where are the rest of your bandmates?" he asked, looking around.

Arthur shrugged. Alfred was probably somewhere in the cafeteria working on his fourteenth cup of coffee, and Matthew had probably been dragged along with his brother. As for Ivan…God only knew where he was. Arthur found that he did not much care anyway…as long as they all turned up for the show at eight.

"What's going on here?" he nodded towards the platform and the camera crew adjusting the lightings for the black stage.

"They're doing an on-stage practice for Bad Friends before they record their next music video. They've got a new single coming out."

"If I wasn't so tired I'd throw up," Arthur turned his head away in disgust. The last thing he needed when he wanted to relax was _their_ presence.

Apparently, he was not the only one who disapproved of the Bad Friends' scheduled arrival. Arthur had not even noticed that there was another person nearby, with exception of the stage crew, until he heard someone grumble by his right elbow.

"Hmph! What a joke!"

Arthur looked up and noted a young man with a camera slung around his neck. His brown hair was combed back neatly, but for a small curl which stuck out. Otherwise, he was immaculately dressed, although from his constant frown he looked like someone who was constantly angry at something.

He looked at Lars inquisitively, who simply shrugged as if to say he did not know who he was. Arthur decided that it was not important to inquire, especially since the man was paying no attention to them.

"Lovino! You came to cheer for me?" a too-bright, too-cheerful, and definitely too-familiar voice bounded towards them.

Arthur moved aside just in time to miss Antonio flinging himself at Lovino. As for Lovino, he shrieked in an unnaturally high-pitched voice and wrenched Antonio off of him, screaming; "As if! My brother and I are in the next studio. There's a fashion show being recorded there and we're helping out." His angry expression turned sly. "It's worth it though. Lots of hot women."

Arthur only had time to register the slightly disgruntled look on Antonio's face before the rest of the Bad Friends made their way to him.

"Lovi! Long time no see! Where's your bro?" Gilbert hailed him.

"Unlike certain people we're working," Lovino huffed.

"You don't look like you're working."

"We're having a little…siesta right now."

Arthur felt himself shrinking. He did not want to be here. He would hate them to think that he had come to see them practice – which was definitely a lie. Fortunately they were so preoccupied with Lovino that they did not notice Arthur sitting, partially hidden by the shadows of the equipment.

Unfortunately for Arthur, he luck was not good enough to hold out. Gilbert , whether by chance or because something happened to catch his eye, turned his head in his direction and spotted Arthur straight away.

"Oh-ho!" Gilbert's grin was like poison to him. "So you couldn't stay away from my awesomeness, could you?" he slid closer, invading Arthur's personal space. Arthur turned his face away with pinched look of disgust.

"Please, if I knew your lot were going to be here I would have found some other ditch to crawl into," he spat.

Gilbert grinned and backed up. "You sure know a lot about crawling, don'tcha? Why don't you - "

"Now, now, children, let's not pick on each other," Francis came between them, treating them like children who did not know how to play nice.

"Shut your face, frog!" Arthur snarled.

Francis gave him a steely look. All he had been trying to do was keep the peace but since Arthur had lashed out at him he was not above biting back. "Hmph, if only your musical talent was as accomplished as your ungratefulness, you might actually have a shot in this industry," he said, with a haughty smirk.

"If only your ridiculous amount of body hair could equal yours!" Arthur retorted.

"That is a cheap and unintelligent remark. Couldn't you think of anything wittier?"

"Shut it."

"As I thought."

Arthur glared at him

To think that they were going to go on tour together soon. It was almost laughable. Arthur did not think he would be able to stomach his food properly if he was anywhere within a hundred miles of this self-assured, arrogant French bastard!

They glared at each other for a long time. Perhaps the tension would have escalated into violence, but just then a crew member called out; "We're starting in five, you guys!" and suddenly the strain between them seemed to be forgotten.

However, as the Bad Friends returned to the stage, and Lovino went back to his work too, Arthur caught Francis glancing back at him with a thoughtful look. Their eyes met and Francis suddenly grinned.

"Maybe if you stick around you will learn a thing or two about music," he waved behind him.

Arthur swore under his breath and slumped back down against the chair. He really hated those guys, Francis most of all. Antonio irritated him, Gilbert was just as frustrating as Alfred when he was being difficult but Francis – he could not put his finger on it but every time they argued it just riled him up so much, more than anyone else.

"You…really don't like those guys, huh?" Lars said, reminding him that he was there and had heard their entire conversation. Arthur blushed to think that he had shown such a childish side of himself to a stranger.

"They are…good," he conceded with a blush. "I can't deny that they have some shred of talent in order to get this far but…" he pulled a face, "their personalities all suck, they rely too much on their looks, they're just in it for the fame and sex! I can't stand shallow guys like them!"

Lars pushed his head back and laughed loudly. It shocked Arthur at first. He was about as loud as Alfred, perhaps more. "Well, that's just how most rock artists come across in order to survive. Image is everything, you know."

"Whatever. I've had enough of this," Arthur sighed and stood up. If Francis came back to still find him sitting there he would never hear the end of it.

"Wanna hit the bar counter?" Lars stood too.

"I'm in the middle of a job."

"Yeah, I am too. So?"

Arthur grinned. The offer of alcohol always managed to cheer him up.

As they left, he glanced back once – it was a reflex action, he would swear. There was no meaning to it – and was surprised, astonished even, when he caught Francis' eye as the man turned around to look at him at the same time. However, Arthur quickly amended this by scowling at the Frenchman and huffing as he walked away with Lars.

He was sure Ludwig would not notice if he only had one or two beers.

"Francis, where are you eyes looking? Get a grip, man!" Francis heard Gilbert call him as they were preparing for the stage. He quickly turned his eyes away from the two people leaving and hurried over to the stage hands.

"Coming," he said, although his mind was still caught in that moment fifteen seconds ago when his gaze had crossed paths with Arthur's. He had caught Arthur's eyes in a moment of unguarded surprise, before he could ruin his look with an ugly scowl or a cold stare. He thought, if Arthur always looked like that, he could almost be considered sweet, but of course his vulgar personality was another matter entirely.

Actually, that truly unpleasant man was the type that Francis hated the most, and he would be grateful if they never had to cross paths.

Then again, with the tour coming up, and Arthur's band scheduled as the warm-up gig, that seemed very unlikely.

* * *

XX


End file.
